Homecoming
by Damerel
Summary: Ian Edgerton doesn't have a home. And that's the way he likes it. (Ian/Colby slash.)
1. Chapter 1

The original version of this story was written for the Numb3rs New Year challenge on LiveJournal, and I tried to incorporate the prompts that were requested by the person for whom it was written. The story as it stands is complete, but real life events meant that it was a slightly rough version posted to LiveJournal. I'm revising it as and when I have time, so I'm afraid it's going to be posted in chapters rather than all at once.

It's slash, Ian/Colby. For those of you who aren't keen on even implied sex scenes, the only one in this story is in the first chapter. And for those of you who _are_ keen on them, my apologies - you'll see as the story develops there's a reason why they're somewhat lacking. :)

Anyway, if anyone out there is still reading Numb3rs fic, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Homecoming**

The things capable of taking down Ian Edgerton could be counted on the fingers of one hand and still leave several to spare. Unfortunately, Ian realised, he was going to have to add another item to that very short, very exclusive list. Colby Granger had just opened his apartment door in answer to Ian's knock and the look of delight on his face twisted its way past every single one of Ian's defences.

"Ian," Colby said in surprise. "I didn't know you were in LA."

"What would be the fun in letting people know beforehand?" Ian asked, shouldering his duffel and gun case again and stepping into Colby's small apartment. "I'd probably end up getting a math lecture."

"You know you'll get that anyway," Colby pointed out as he closed the door and watched Ian drop his bags to the hall floor.

"Was hoping I might get something else first," Ian said, because subtlety was overrated.

"Really?" There was a grin in Colby's voice as Ian let himself be crowded back against the wall, Colby's large body pressed against his, his hands resting on Ian's waist as their lips met.

It had been too long since he'd last had this, had Colby, and he didn't intend to waste a second. But Colby had ideas of his own, and the next few minutes were a whirl of low, soft sounds as they kissed, Colby making little sounds of need deep in his throat, the rasp of Ian's zipper being lowered, and then Colby was on his knees in front of him. An embarrassingly short while later, it was all over.

The only thing that saved Ian from complete mortification was that it scarcely took the touch of his hand on Colby to have him shuddering and crying out, wetness spilling between them. And after that, Ian took him to bed, needing to reacquaint himself with every last part of Colby.

When he pushed into him, his breath coming in harsh short pants, stirring the soft hair at the nape of Colby's neck, he had to fight back the sudden feeling that this was like coming home. It had been a long time since he'd seen him, that was all.

Later, they lay in bed together, and Colby traced Ian's body with his hands, over and over, the way he always did, as though making sure Ian really was there.

"You might just have got me kicked out of the Bureau," he said. "I've got my fitness test tomorrow – don't reckon I've got a hope of passing after _that."_

"I was limbering you up for it."

"Well, yeah, and ensuring every other guy in the locker room can see just what I was up to tonight," Colby complained, a hand to the mark on his neck Ian had left. They were usually much more careful than that, but it had been too long and something inside Ian had wanted to mark Colby, to _claim _him.

That realisation seemed to hit Colby all of a sudden. "Oh," he said, startled, before his expression wavered into disbelief and then that whole stupid puppy delight thing he'd had going at the front door.

Ian sighed. "Granger, how the hell did you ever get recruited as an agent, let alone a spy?"

Colby glared at him, but the smile that was tugging at his lips meant his glower was anything _but_ intimidating. Ian pulled him in close and ruffled his hair into spikes, which had Colby glaring harder, until he ended up looking like a grumpy baby hedgehog.

"Just making sure everyone else knows to back off," Ian said, and pretended not to notice the way Colby moved closer into his hold even as he huffed indignantly at his statement. Ian had the suspicion that Colby wasn't sure just where he stood with Ian, but that was fine. In Ian's experience, the minute you started trying to define something, started talking about feelings and relationships or any of that, that's when it all went to crap. And Colby didn't push, which left things just the way Ian liked them – free and uncomplicated.

"Are you going into the office tomorrow?" Colby asked. "There's probably a math lecture with your name on it."

"Isn't there always? I don't know where the professor got the idea I liked math."

"Probably because you're nicer to him than you are to anyone else."

"Oh, really? You don't count what I just did to you as being nice?"

To Ian's delight, Colby honest-to-God blushed.

"I guess I'll go in and see what's going on," Ian returned to their original topic. "I'm waiting on a call from Hawaii, so I might as well see if I can do something while I'm here."

"Hawaii? The surf's awesome out there."

"You could always come with me. You'd look kind of hot in a grass skirt."

While he'd meant it as a joke, it suddenly didn't sound all that bad, having Colby with him more often, grass skirt optional. At that point Ian decided he needed to disentangle himself from Colby's warm grasp that would be so easy to relax into, and go to the bathroom, because he didn't do this. He didn't do commitment.

By the time he came back, Colby was asleep. Ian slipped into bed beside him. Colby seemed somehow to sense it and rolled over to slide an arm round Ian, his legs tangling with Ian's in a way that should leave Ian feeling trapped. Ian didn't do this for a very good reason – it never lasted. He never wanted it to last. And he realised, as he was falling asleep, that those two things possibly had something to do with one another.

* * *

Next morning Ian found himself at FBI headquarters, listening to Don instructing his agents in a shorthand that showed just what a well-oiled machine his team had become. And that was an unfortunate choice of image, bringing to mind as it did Colby's muscular body slicked up with baby oil and glistening. Ian took a swig from his coffee and wrenched his mind back to the topic at hand, not thinking about Colby, at this moment down in the gym undergoing strenuous physical testing. He wondered if he'd be wearing that faded FBI t-shirt, the one that had been washed so many times it was worn thin and had shrunk a bit, meaning it clung deliciously to every single one of his muscles – and that was a whole lot of muscles - when he got sweaty.

"Ian?"

Don was looking at him curiously, and he shook himself. God damn it, he didn't do this. He put it down to not enough sleep over the past three weeks while he'd trailed a child killer from New Mexico all the way to Maine. Seriously, Maine. Who did that? And then Ian had jumped on a plane and come out to LA ready to fly on to Hawaii. Dropping in on Colby and the rest of them while he was here was just a bonus.

"I can cover whatever's left," he said, looking at the map Don had divided into sectors. Charlie had done something predictably incomprehensible to trace back the path of gun smuggling from the streets of LA to a two-hundred square mile tract of rural California. Somewhere amidst the vineyards and the farms, there had to be someone who knew something, who'd seen something out of place.

Don glanced at his watch. "You want to hang on for Colby? The two of you can take the south-east quadrant."

That sounded fine to Ian. It was the smallest area, so even with a later start they should get it done before dark. He sat down to read through the case file as Don led the rest of the team out.

Colby finally came back into the office, his hair still damp from showering, and looking loose-limbed and relaxed. Ian was not going to think about the fact he looked like that after sex. He absolutely was not, because the one thing they didn't do was let whatever it was they had together affect them when they were working. No one else on the team knew they'd hooked up. None of them, apart from Don and, in Colby's case, David, even knew either of them were gay. They were here to do a job. A job that could be damned dangerous if it didn't have all of their concentration all of the time. Their relationship, or whatever the hell it was, stayed out of the office and out of the field, and that was as it should be.

He tossed the map to Colby, who seemed surprised and a little disappointed to find everyone else had gone without him. "Come on, Granger – we're going fishing."


	2. Chapter 2

"This reminds me of Idaho," Colby commented as they drove through the rain to their third farmhouse of the day. So far the only success they'd had in their hunt was in being plied with coffee. It seemed the drowned rat look rendered them somewhat less than intimidating and made them seem as if they were in need of succour.

"It always rain like this in Idaho?"

Ian got a withering look for his trouble. "The way there's room to breathe," Colby explained as Ian drew the car to a halt. "You don't hear everything your neighbour does. Although somehow that doesn't stop everyone knowing everyone else's business."

"Do you miss it?" Ian asked. He turned up his collar ready to get out of the car and trek up the path to the house in the rain. This was California, for God's sake – what was with the wet stuff coming down from the sky in the middle of summer?

"Yes and no. Parts of it I don't miss at all, but the fresh air, the countryside..." he shrugged slightly. "You know what LA's like."

Yeah, Ian knew. He also knew an unexpected feeling of relief at hearing Colby didn't intend to spend the rest of his life in LA. Ian didn't do permanent and he didn't do happy ever after, because he'd seen too much to believe life let you have that. But all the same, he didn't want to be dragging back to LA in another ten years to visit Colby. Somewhere out in the mountains, where there was space to be on his own, but space to be with Colby too – that sounded pretty near damn perfect. And he wasn't getting any nearer that sitting here looking at the rain drops sliding down the windshield.

They trudged across the wet grass, which was long enough to get the hems of their jeans wet and their boots even muddier. The house, a sprawling clapboarded two storey affair, looked quiet, with no lights on despite the overcast day. And no suggestion of movement anywhere, which was entirely at odds with the previous places they'd visited, because farmers never rested. Ian was reaching for his gun just as Colby did, but it was too late — the deafening sound of weapons fire ripped the air around them.

Hot pain tore at Ian's bicep as he ducked, diving at Colby and shoving him to the ground, rolling them both into the drainage ditch beside them. Colby's body cushioned his fall, but the force of it still drove the breath half out of his body. His lungs were spasming as he raised his head just enough to check the ditch was sufficiently deep to give them cover. That was something. On the not so positive side, the gunfire was still going on. He might have deduced from that fact that it hadn't been aimed at them, if not for the blood staining the sleeve of his jacket.

He looked down at Colby, who was underneath him and seemed to be having problems getting his breath, probably because of Ian's weight on him. "You this welcoming in Idaho too?"

"Not so much," Colby managed, sounding winded.

Ian wriggled backwards off him to let get his breath. "How many?" he asked, and as he did so the sound of weapon fire stopped, leaving his ears ringing and no longer able to hear the soft sound the rain made on the vegetation around them.

"I heard three different_ – fuck," _Colby broke off, his voice thick with pain.

Ian drew his gaze back from assessing their surroundings and found Colby was trying to curl up in the tight confines of the wet ditch. His hand was clutched to his side, and Ian could see redness seeping through his fingers.

It felt like all the breath had been punched out of Ian, but he couldn't give into it. He had to think. He had to get them out of here where they were pinned like rats in a trap.

"How bad?" he asked urgently. "We need to move."

"I'm okay," Colby said, but he forced it out between clenched teeth.

Ian looked past Colby to see that the ditch got shallow pretty quickly before petering out completely; they'd been lucky in that respect, landing where they had. Behind them, the ditch seemed to go on at the same depth for some distance, though from here there was no way of telling how far.

"Don't remember any cover for several hundred yards," Colby got out, his voice tight and strained. "We're going to have to crawl."

And that was exactly what they did, through the mud and the water at the bottom of the ditch. Ian led the way, and if he paused rather too often in his belly crawl to check Colby was still close behind him, that had nothing to do with thoughts of Colby's injury and everything to do with keeping a sense of situational awareness.

At one point there was the sound of voices from the house, two men shouting, making them both freeze, but no doors opened, at least not loud enough for them to hear, and most important of all, there were no footsteps walking toward the ditch. Which made sense — Ian felt uncomfortably like a fish in a barrel right now, but he was a fish with a gun and anyone wanting to finish them off would have to lean over and show themselves, meaning they'd end up with a faceful of lead.

Time seemed to stop as Ian kept wriggling through that damn ditch, hearing Colby moving behind him. Colby was clumsier than usual, Ian thought, not that he was one to talk because his arm hurt like hell every time he put any pressure on it to move himself forward, but they couldn't stop yet to assess the damage. They had to get somewhere more defensible. Ideally, they had to get away completely in order to regroup and work out a plan. But that all depended on how clearly the men in the house were thinking. If it were him, he'd go either to where the ditch got them to cover, or where to it ended, and wait there for them. He turned his attention from Colby then, concentrating on listening as he inched slowly forward.

Either the men in the house really were stupid, or they didn't belong there and didn't know the lie of the land, because when Ian got to the point where he could go no further, there was no one lying in wait. The ditch came to a full stop where a drainage pipe was set into the earth, with a trickle of water coming through as run-off.

Well, crap. Ian had a pretty good idea of where they were, and it was still several yards away from anything that would give them cover from the house. There was no way they could just climb out here without being spotted. On the other hand, if they took cover in the pipe, which would be a squeeze but possible, their backs would be safe and they couldn't be taken from surprise by above. They'd just have to hole up here and wait for dark, and perhaps in the meantime reinforcements would be here.

He reached for his phone, and found it gone. _Shit. _He must have lost it in the tumble down into the ditch. Colby would have his, though; it seemed like Granger couldn't live without his Twitter account, though Ian still didn't know what he used it for and Colby wasn't saying. And as he looked at Colby, about to ask, his words died in his throat because Colby looked like crap. He was pale, sweating and breathing far too heavily as he wriggled his way awkwardly through the slimy mud towards Ian. Ian helped him into the pipe. It was worth putting up with the cold water collected in the bottom for the protection it afforded. It was too small for them to sit upright, so after some awkward manoeuvring, they ended up lying next to one another, facing outward, ready for any threat.

"Your arm?" Colby asked, keeping his voice low. If the men in the house hadn't worked out where they were, there was no point in giving it away.

Despite the concern in his voice, Colby didn't look at Ian; he was focused outward, his gun in his hand – and Ian was not going to think about the fact his other hand was once again pressed against his side – while he waited for Ian to sort himself out. They'd both done this sort of thing enough times to know the drill - the one least injured needed attention first, because the success of the operation might lie in their hands. Ian didn't want to think what it meant that Colby had instantly assumed he was hurt worse than Ian. It was just a scratch causing that ever-growing bloodstain on Colby's shirt.

Ian shrugged off his jacket with some difficulty, then pulled his shirt off, trusting Colby to keep watch while he did so. Shit, that was a lot more blood than he was expecting to see. He got out his knife and set to slicing up his shirt, or at least the bits of it that weren't too muddy, so he could wrap a makeshift bandage round his arm. He had to get Colby to pull it tight and tie it for him, and he didn't miss the pain on Colby's face as he moved to do so.

Once he was bandaged, and had struggled back into his jacket with difficulty, because oddly enough drainage pipes didn't appear to be designed to allow six-foot-plus FBI agents to dress themselves easily, Ian turned his attention to Colby. The next few minutes were something Ian knew would stay with him, no matter how hard he tried to forget – the blood on Colby's skin when Ian pulled up his t-shirt, the sounds of pain he made as Ian pressed part of his shirt tightly to the wound, until he doubled up, grabbing Ian's hand, all but sobbing Ian's name in a way that almost broke Ian's resolve. But he had to put the pressure on, _had _to, no matter that the wetness on Colby's cheeks was no longer just rain and sweat.

Ian ended up taking off his belt and using it to secure the pressure pad as firmly as he could to Colby's torso, and pulled it tight despite the sounds that escaped Colby when he did so. And then he couldn't help himself – he pressed a kiss into Colby's damp hair. They didn't do this in the field, but if waiting for homicidal psychos to finish them off wasn't a good enough reason, Ian didn't know what was.

He lay as close to Colby as he could get, and although the water he lay in was freezing, Colby was warm plastered against his side. "You got your phone?" he asked, when Colby's breathing finally steadied again after Ian's first aid.

"Can you get it?" Colby asked, and that, right there, told Ian everything he didn't want to know about how badly off Colby was.

He snagged it from Colby's pocket, but it was soaking wet and did precisely nothing when Ian tried to turn it on. _Fuck. _Well, maybe the GPS would still be working. Or maybe Ian's would be, wherever the hell it was in the long grass. Or maybe the car was lo-jacked – it was a Bureau car after all. It was just a question of how long it took before someone thought that the fact they hadn't checked in was cause for concern. He looked at his watch, wiping off the mud to see the face, and found that even with this cloud and rain, there were another three hours before dusk.

"What's our play?" Colby asked. "Wait for dark?"

"It's all we can do. We'll be too exposed if we try to move in daylight."

Colby frowned. "But they're going to know that too. They're not going to want to risk sticking their head in the ditch, but come dark, all they need to do is wait with spotlights or headlights and a gun for us to try and get out. It'll be like hunting rabbits."

"Fuck that," Ian snarled, because Colby was right and he knew it. "When it gets dark, you stay here and start making a noise to draw their attention, and I'll sneak out further down and take them out."

"How's your arm?" Colby asked, and he wasn't asking as a concerned boyfriend or whatever they were; he was asking as an FBI agent who wanted to make realistic plans.

"Good enough for that," Ian said, and he wasn't bragging. He knew his body, and he knew what he could and couldn't do. "Your side?"

"Not so good," Colby said, and the fact he admitted it so readily was not a good sign.

"We just need to wait for dark."

"Yeah," Colby said. He sounded suddenly weary at the thought.


	3. Chapter 3

They settled as best they could in the cold water that trickled slowly beneath them and watched the rain come down. Ian tried not to think about snakes or rats sharing their space, because getting bitten by either would top off a truly wonderful day.

"You take me to all the best places," Colby said after a while.

"You wanted nature, I gave you nature. Some people are never satisfied."

"The nature part's fine, except for the cold and the wet and the goddamn mud," Colby said. "It's the whole homicidal maniacs with automatic weapons bit I'm not so sure about."

"Be kind of boring without it, though."

"Yeah," Colby said, and shivered.

Ian moved as close to him as he could get. "You okay?"

Colby nodded tightly. "Tired."

"Oh no, you don't get to sleep and leave me to freeze my ass off in a puddle of water," Ian said. "Talk to me, Granger."

"About what?"

"Anything. You. Math. Your Great-aunt Matilda, because I just know you've got one."

Colby laughed, but it turned into a gasp and then the only sound was the continuing rainfall and Colby's harsh panting breaths.

"So maybe not your Great-aunt Matilda if she's that exciting," Ian said, trying to prevent his worry from sounding in his voice.

"Not much to tell you don't already know," Colby said, making an obvious effort, and equally obviously trying to hide that fact by sounding casual. And that, right there, was what made Colby different to the rest, because no matter how many times he got knocked down, in however many ways, he just kept getting back up again. "I always wanted a dog, though."

"Yeah?" That was news to Ian. "What kind?"

"Dunno. Maybe a mongrel from a shelter. Something big, anyway."

Ian shook his head. "No. I know you, Colby – if you walk in through a shelter door, you'll walk out with every dog in the place. And then complain when Don bans them from the office."

"Dogs can fight crime too," Colby murmured, but his eyes were closed and he sounded a long way away.

Ian poked him on the sternum, hard. "You do not get to sleep till we're home and in the dry," he said. "So what would you call your dog?"

"Ian," Colby said. "At least then one of you would do what I told you."

"Smartass."

"You love my ass," Colby said. His voice sounded blurred round the edges.

Ian looked at his watch again, to find not enough time had passed. Not enough time at all. Dusk was still too far off. Colby's eyes flickered open and he caught Ian looking at his watch.

"Just a bit longer," Ian said.

Colby nodded, and Ian tried not to think how it looked like he was humouring Ian.

They lay there quietly in the damp chill. Colby was shivering beside him, even though Ian had struggled out of his jacket again and laid it overhim, and Ian's hands were numb as he lay in the cold water that was trickling so sluggishly through the pipe. Not so numb he didn't snap into action when he heard something – he raised his gun, his aim rock steady despite the burning in his arm. He was aware in his peripheral vision that Colby too had his gun ready, unwavering.

Colby suddenly relaxed again, and Ian couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped him when he saw the interloper: a pointed face topped by pricked red ears stared down at them for an instant before the fox raised its head again. It stood at the edge of the ditch a couple of seconds longer, one paw raised, before continuing on its way.

"Guess that answers the question about whether anyone's close by," Colby muttered.

Gunfire sounded, harsh and loud in the soft afternoon rain.

"Guess _that _answers the question of whether they're still watching the ditch," Ian said.

Colby sighed. "You reckon the fox made it?"

"Right now I'm more concerned about us."

As the minutes ticked slowly by, he had good reason to be. Colby would talk when Ian made him, but it was an obvious effort, and shivers were racking him as he tried to curl around the wound in his side. He was paler than Ian had ever seen him. Even his lips were nearly white, and he was breathing shallowly, presumably because any other way hurt. As he looked at Colby, Ian knew he didn't have until dusk. He didn't have much longer at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed and provided words of encouragement!

When we last left our heroes, they were still trapped in a drainage pipe - cold, wet, and bleeding...

* * *

"Colby," Ian said sharply, realising he'd been quiet for too long and his eyes were closed. "Granger, wake the fuck up. You've got a job to do."

Colby opened his eyes, but his gaze seemed far away. "I remember the first time I saw you, out in Kandahar," he said, his voice strangely slow and dreamy. "The famous Ian Edgerton. I remember the way the sun shone down on you, like you were some sort of god." Colby was smiling slightly. "Like a dusty, slightly sweaty god, but still…"

"Granger!" Ian snapped it, because Colby had stopped speaking and was lying in a muddy puddle, smiling.

"But I know better now." Colby's eyes seemed suddenly to see Ian, even as his voice grew fainter. "You're not just Ian Edgerton – you're Ian_." _He clumsily reached out his hand and rested it against Ian's cheek. It was wet with his blood and the rain, and felt so cold. "You were everything I wanted, except I didn't know half of what that was back then," he said softly, slowly.

Ian was _not _having this. "Save it for later," he said roughly. "We're not home yet."

Colby's lips tugged slightly at the corners, even though his eyes were closed – and when had that happened? Why hadn't Ian noticed? "Sorry," he said, and Ian didn't know what he was apologising for.

The hand on Ian's face fell away, a sudden, heavy move that felt oddly final. Cold as it had been, Ian was frozen without it.

"Eyes front, soldier," he barked.

Colby's eyes flew open to stare blankly for an instant before he finally _saw_ Ian. "Sorry," he said again.

Ian knew then. No, this was not happening. Colby Granger was not going to bleed to death in a puddle of cold water on his watch. There had to be a way out. If Ian could get down to the other end, close to the drive where there were trees, it wouldn't take him long to get under cover; he was so caked in mud he'd be hard to spot, and he already knew their aim was lousy. And once he was no longer pinned down, Ian knew he could take each and every one of them out in a heartbeat.

It was probably the worst plan Ian had ever come up with. He refused to rate its chances because he would end up laughing, but the alternative was unthinkable.

Ian had seen too much death to believe there was anything heroic about dying in a hail of bullets. He knew that was likely to be his fate if he did this. But at least this way there was a chance. The problem was, to carry out his plan he'd have to leave Colby. Ian could do denial as well as the next man, but the thought of leaving Colby here, of Colby dying cold and alone… But if he didn't go, Colby would definitely die, slipping quietly away beside him. This way he'd have a chance. Oh, God, please give them a chance.

His throat ached suddenly as he learned forward and tapped Colby's cheek. "Colby?"

There was no response.

_"Colby." _He tapped harder, much harder.

Colby struggled to open his eyes, but didn't quite make it.

"Listen to me," Ian said, pouring every last bit of command into his voice that he could manage. "I'm going to work my way down to the other end of this ditch, then up to the house and take them out. Then I'll be back for you and we're going to get out of here. I need you to be ready for that, Granger."

"Yeah." Or at least he thought Colby said that. His lips had moved, so Ian was going to assume he'd spoken.

"You got your gun?"

Colby made an abortive move that ended in a wince of pain, but his hand was grasped tightly round the butt of his PC 945.

"Good man," Ian said. "I won't be long."

Despite his determined words, he hesitated. He couldn't leave Colby like this. But he had no choice. He leaned his forehead against Colby's – it was cold, so cold – and then he kissed his unresponsive lips. "Love you," he said gruffly, and refused to believe that he might have left saying the words until it was too late.

He was crawling out of the drain when something made him pause and turn back. Colby's eyes were open the merest crack, and Ian read his lips rather than heard the faint sound he made. "Stay safe."

Ian smiled, because that's what Ian did. "Always," he promised. "Be ready when I get back."

And with that he was gone, wriggling as quickly and smoothly along the ditch as his arm would allow.


	5. Chapter 5

My apologies for the delay in posting this next part. I went away for a few days, which threw everything else out of kilter.

* * *

Ian had crawled about three-quarters of the way along the ditch when he came to a stop. If he were in the house, he'd have most of his attention trained on the two ends. If Ian came out in the middle, if he was quick enough and stealthy enough – and Ian Edgerton was stealthy like no one else alive – he could be on his way to cover before they'd noticed. Or bleeding out on the lip of the ditch alongside some unfortunate fox.

He checked his gun one last time, readied himself, and took a deep breath. As every muscle tensed to explode into action, he heard something. He waited an instant, wondering if he was simply hearing what he wanted to hear, but no – those were definitely sirens, getting louder and more insistent. And then there was the sound of engines being gunned as wheels tried to find a grip on the wet mud track, and the fucking cavalry was here. For one indulgent moment, he let his head drop back against the side of the ditch, his relief so deep it turned his bones to water, and then he set off along the ditch, back to Colby.

He could hear gunfire, and shouts of "FBI" – he was damn sure that was Don's voice he could hear – and he no longer cared about making a noise, or his arm, or anything except getting back to Colby.

He was still worming his way along the ditch when the gunfire finally died, and the air was filled with shouts.

"Colby! Ian!"

"Granger!"

Carefully, in case Don had brought trigger-happy rookies with him, he slid his gun into his waistband and stood up, hands in the air and very clearly not a threat. "Don," he said.

Don was standing not fifty yards away, watching as one man was marched out of the house, handcuffed, and shoved into a vehicle. No sign of any others. Ian couldn't find it in himself to care.

The relief that spread across Don's face seemed to lighten the whole grey, rainy afternoon. "You been having a mud bath, Edgerton?"

"Colby," Ian said. "We need medics, _now."_

Don heard the urgency and despair in his voice, and he keyed his radio immediately, demanding a chopper for urgent evac. "Where is he?" he snapped, and Ian levered himself out of the ditch to show him. Or at least he tried to, but his arm crumpled on him. Don was suddenly there, helping him up and holding him while the world whirled around Ian.

"In the pipe," he got out, gesturing towards it rather than taking off at the sprint he wanted to, because his legs were threatening to give out on him and he thought he was going to throw up.

Don shouted something over his shoulder and two agents went haring past. And then David was running over, panic all over his face. "Colby," he said. "Where's Colby?"

The mention of Colby's name was enough to get Ian moving again, shaking off Don because he didn't need a goddamn babysitter.

By the time they got to the pipe, the agents that had run ahead were lifting Colby out of the ditch onto the wet grass, and he heard Don curse as he saw how still and limp he was. But none of that mattered, nothing mattered except the way Colby's arm was trailing because he looked… he looked…

Ian was on his knees next to Colby, hand clenched round Colby's jaw, shaking him back and forth, feeling the complete lack of resistance. "Fuck it, Granger," he snarled. "You don't do this, you understand me? You don't get to fucking _do _this."

Strong hands were dragging him away from Colby. He fought instinctively. As Don's arms tightened round him, restraining him, he used a well-placed elbow and threw his head back, feeling it connect with Don's face.

"_Damn_ it, Edgerton." But even through the pain in his voice, Don kept hold of Ian, and the strength that had kept Ian going this long seemed to desert him. He sagged in Don's hold, watching as David and another agent began CPR.

"It was only a minute," Ian said. "I only left him for a minute, Don, I swear."

"I know," Don said, and there was such an ache in his voice that Ian knew – Don had already given up on Colby. But he was wrong. He couldn't be more wrong because the one thing Colby would never do was to give up. Otherwise he'd have given up on Ian long ago, the way everyone else did when Ian refused to compromise, refused to be what other people wanted and lose himself in the process.

David shouted and pushed the woman doing chest compressions away, and thank _God_, Colby was breathing again.

Don's arms loosened, and Ian fell to his knees in the mud beside Colby, wondering why his hand was unsteady as he raised it to Colby's face.

"Damn it, Granger, I am _not_ doing that again." Sinclair's voice was shaking. When Ian tore his eyes away from Colby long enough to look, he saw David running his hands over his face.

"Chopper's ten minutes out," Don said, putting his hand on David's shoulder for an instant before he crouched down next to Ian. "Someone should look at that arm," he said, and Ian followed his gaze to see the dark stain on his makeshift bandage was bigger than it had been.

"Later," he said, because he was feeling cold and dizzy all of a sudden, and was fairly sure that if someone started poking about at his arm, he'd lose focus. He wasn't doing that, not till he knew Colby was safe.

Someone dropped a jacket round Ian's shoulders, and that was the first time anyone had ever snuck up on him like that. He didn't like what that said about what kind of a state he was in, but he clutched at the jacket because he was cold. Not as cold as Colby, though. He left his hand on Colby's cheek, because that way Colby would know he was there. And he stayed there, kneeling in the wet, and watching the afternoon turn to dusk as the rain fell.

Agents were moving around the scene, but Don ordered everyone to keep clear of them, except for David and Liz, who looked like she was crying. At some point Don had ended up kneeling next to Ian, offering subtle, unspoken support that kept Ian upright despite the way the world kept swimming around him.

He must have lost time somewhere, because he was suddenly being encouraged to his feet and there were medics bending over Colby. The world was spinning and Don was shouting, and everything went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks very much for the reviews and PMs. I'm so glad to hear people are enjoying my first foray into h/c!

There's only one more part to come after this. I'd intended to post the final two chapters at the same time, but as the last chapter isn't yet ready to be posted and I'm going away for the weekend, I thought it better to post _something_ now.

* * *

Ian struggled to open his eyes, but they were so very heavy that he gave up and continued floating in darkness. He had no idea how much time had passed when he slowly became aware of the sounds of people walking along a hard floor, their footsteps echoing in a muted way that suggested there was a door between him and them. Then there was the cottony effect and the dryness in his mouth that only morphine caused, and a nagging pain in his arm. Hospital, then. Great. He usually ducked faster than that.

As he tried to remember what had happened, it came flooding back. This time he had no problem opening his eyes with adrenaline surging through him. He wasn't panicking. Ian Edgerton never panicked. But he might have been a little stressed, because it took him three tries to unhook himself from the IV, due to clumsy fingers that were stupidly shaky. Blood loss would do that to a man. That was the only reason for it. Nothing to with needing to know about Colby or the way that thinking about him had Ian's heart thudding so erratically he thought he might be having a heart attack.

He stumbled when he got out of bed because the floor was further away than it had looked, but he found clean, dry clothes stuffed in the bedside cupboard, which he counted as a win. He'd just finished pulling on a pair of jeans – and wasn't that fun, with not being able to balance and not being able to see all that well because of the black spots in front of his eyes – when the door to his room opened.

"I might have known," Don said, and set down the cup of coffee he'd been carrying. "I'll give you a hand."

"Colby," Ian said, and didn't care that it came out sounding desperate.

"He's going to be okay," Don said.

Ian's legs threatened to give out. He sank down on the side of the bed and let Don help him into his shirt before he knew what he was doing. When Don would have done up the buttons for him, he batted his hands away because he wasn't a damn invalid. He was Ian Edgerton. But by the time he finally got the shirt done up, he was sweating slightly and his arm felt like it was on fire. He was also, he realised, wearing a shirt he had never seen before and which looked like it had time-travelled from the eighties, where it had been perfectly at home.

"Your clothes were kind of muddy, so I brought some in from home," Don said when he saw the direction of Ian's gaze. "We thought your stuff was probably at Colby's but none of us wanted to go poking around in his apartment, just in case it's as much a mess as his desk."

So Ian had probably been deluding himself if he thought that three trained investigators had managed to witness him kneeling next to Colby in the mud and the rain and not noticed _something. _He wondered briefly if he should say something about the black eye Don was sporting, which looked like someone had slammed their skull into his face, but he decided against it. It could have been from anything, after all.

But of course Don was going to get his revenge. "So, you and Colby, huh?"

"I guess," Ian said, because it wasn't like he could exactly deny it now.

"How long?"

"A year," Ian said, then paused. Some sort of honesty compelled him to add, "Maybe two."

Don snorted. "And they say _I'm _bad at relationships? At least I usually know how long I've been seeing someone."

"It's not a relationship," Ian said instantly, all his defence mechanisms kicking in.

Don, damn him, just looked at Ian. The knowingness in his eyes had Ian conducting a sudden but thorough visual check of the ingress and egress points in the room. He wasn't avoiding Don's gaze. He was simply checking the hospital's security.

"How did you find us?" he asked, after he'd left it long enough that it didn't look like a change of subject.

Don picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Despatch let us know you hadn't reported in on schedule and when Charlie heard your last known location, he had some sort of probability epiphany, so I called in backup."

Thank God he had. Ian almost felt guilty about that black eye now. He also owed Charlie a new slide-rule, or whatever it was you gave mathematicians to say thanks. But however grateful he was, he had to work out a way to shake Don off so he could go see Colby.

It seemed Don read his mind. "Come on, Edgerton, let's go rescue your man," he said with a smirk. "The last I saw of him, David was lecturing him about how he did not learn workplace first aid just to keep resuscitating Granger."

"He's got a point."

"I'm not arguing with that, but have you ever heard David when he lets rip? He cites Bureau procedures by paragraph numbers."

"Crap," Ian said. "I didn't even know we _had_ procedures."

"Tell me about it."

Thankfully, by the time they got to Colby's room, David had disappeared. Liz was there, sitting quietly next to a sleeping Colby. He was hooked up to various machines and far too pale, but at least he was breathing.

"Edgerton," Liz said, and looked him up and down as she stood. "I was going to say it's good to see you looking better, but I'm not sure you are. Sit down before you fall down."

Ian glared half-heartedly at her. She simply smiled, said goodbye, and left.

"I'm not sure whether it's the mud in your hair, the fact you look as if you're three days dead, or the sudden realisation you've got _feelings _that's making you less than scary," Don said. "You want coffee?"

He left before Ian could put him right about the feelings nonsense.

Ian didn't know where the hell this hospital kept their coffee machines because Don was gone so long that Ian fell asleep in the hard plastic chair next to Colby's bed. He woke up three hours later to a crick in his neck, his back in spasms, and Colby smiling sleepily at him.


End file.
